


Christmas Lights in Hogsmeade

by Ladderofyears



Series: Shipmas 2018 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, M/M, Mild Language, POV Ginny Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 14:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16812139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: It is Christmastime in Hogsmeade. Ginny reflects on her past, her children and the happiness that Scorpius has brought to her son's life.





	Christmas Lights in Hogsmeade

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to Rosie @littlerosewrites for organising Shipmas 2018. Everything you write is absolutely magic.

_Sometimes_ , Ginny reflected, _it could be quite a challenge to live her life_. The constant scrutiny, the incessant criticism and the snide commentary that the Prophet made about her every decision. Of course, Harry was wonderful, supportive to a fault, but nobody much cared how he dressed. When the kids did something stupid, it wasn’t his parenting. Choosing to return to coaching after her children arrived had the papers furious, but then so had taking time off to have them. Sometimes, the most vivid memories Ginny had of her babies was shielding them, pushing away the photographers, throwing hexes. How she had flooed them frantically to her parents, heart racing in her chest, skittish with fear. She’d never felt like this before James, but carrying him, nursing him, had awoken a part of her that had refused to fade. Ginny hated how the world owned their family, and seemed never, ever, to want to let them go. 

_But it feels different here_. It was only here, in Hogsmeade, that Ginny really felt like she could truly breathe clearly, that she didn’t need to arrange her face and her body to satisfy the world. She wasn’t stupid, she understood this was the only place she had ever really been free. Free to just be Ginny Weasley, good at flying and bad at charms. Back before she was Ginny Potter, married to the Saviour, Quidditch coach and pulled in a thousand directions. Hogsmeade had meant freedom before the War, before Fred, before she was public property. 

_And of course, Hogsmeade means seeing her children_. Ginny knows no mother says it aloud, but once they are born, they are your all. Your beating heart, alive, outside your body. Ginny might curse them sometimes, shout and slam doors, but to be without them, to see them leave each year on that sodding train, is devastating. When they return to her arms they are always changed, always unfamiliar. Ginny would give up every accolade, every prize of her career, to have the years back with her babies that Hogwarts has stolen from her. 

_And nowhere is safer than here_. Indeed it is not. Of all the things Ginny has ever had to thank Ron for, his choice of wife is the most surprising. Absolutely, Hermione is lovely. Even if the odd uncharitable thought about her occasionally rumbles though her head. Well, Ginny can hardly be blamed. Minister of Magic, and recipient of an awe that Harry reserves for no other? Their own love is deeper, more jagged, built on fights and births, sleepless nights and sex. But Hermione means Rose, and Rose means her children are safe. The reporting ban on Rose and Hugo is inviolate, impenetrable, enforced with magic. It extends to all of Hogwarts, and to Hogsmeade too. So here, at least, her children are safe. 

_How beautiful you are_. Ginny is surprised anew at the beauty of her children. How they became the adults they are. Their size, their presence. The wonderful humans that they have become. Merlin knows, James is an arrogant sod. Ginny pities any future wife. Even when he was a toddler he was always looking over his shoulder, looking for the next person to make a fuss of him. But he’s funny, funnier than anyone she can remember since Fred. And Lily. So happy, gentle and kind. So much like her dad. Always on the look out for a cause, somebody to save. Ginny worries about Lily, worries about people taking advantage. They’ve tried so hard to protect them all, give them every advantage, surround them with love. The rest of the world won’t be as kind to the Chosen One’s baby girl as they've been. 

_And Albus_. Even when he was a baby, he was different to James. Red, colicky. Prone to tears and tantrums. At first, Ginny hadn’t understood. She’d cried to her mum, frightened he was ill, desperate for the sleep he couldn’t seem to allow them. Albus was the first thing that had ever caused cutting, angry words between Harry and Ginny, a feat even Voldermort hadn’t managed. Albus was never easy, never light hearted. For years, Albus had never seemed to be able to forgive Harry and Ginny for their fame, the headlines that followed them. Of all their children, he was the one who had railed against his surname most vehemently, and who felt most bereft, as if denied a childhood that could never have existed. 

_But then he’d got on that train_. Met Scorpius. Shared his sweets, and left behind all those generations of Weasleys to move down into that bloody awful dungeon. And yes, Ginny had been furious about that friendship. Albus could never, ever know how she’d screamed at Harry, screamed about how disgusting little Death Eaters should be in Azkaban, not be allowed to breed. How she’d begged him to use his position, just for once, to move his House. Sometimes Ginny even thought he’d made this friend on purpose, to hurt Harry, to punish her. She’d waited that whole bloody year to hear they’d argued, to hear that Malfoy was truly the monstrous little arsehole that he so resembled. But that owl had never arrived. 

_Because Scorpius hadn’t been that person_. Despite the hair, the clothes and the voice, Scorpius never did disappear. Rather than Ginny’s punishment, Scorpius had been Ginny’s reward. He had given her the son back she thought was lost to her. Scor had made Albus smile and laugh, given him a lightness to his being that had once seemed impossible. Perhaps it was the weight of the surnames they both carried with them, or how bullied they had both been. Albus had been unwavering in his care for Scor that first year, when gossip of Voldermort’s bastard stained the lips of everyone she knew. Ginny hadn’t cared for Scor. She’d wanted her son free of him, convinced he would be happier with his family, his own kind. Al had laughed in his parent’s faces. She even remembered his words: _I know you don’t like him, but he’s all I need_. 

_And he was all he needed_. Of course, they’d fallen in love; deep, unwaveringly and utterly in love. Ginny knew Albus was gay, had known since he was seven, and had fallen utterly in love with his brother’s Quidditch posters. And if she was being honest, she’d known that Albus was all Scor needed too. Ginny had known that since that sickening, grey day when they buried Astoria, when her son had knitted their fingers together. Ginny had known it when Scor had lain his head on Al’s shoulder and allowed himself, only in that moment, to feel comfort. She’d felt her hatred dry up and die, as her own tears trickled down her face. This relationship was the most cherished thing in her son’s life, the first and only thing that belonged to him alone. It had given him joy. 

_But this wondrous, shining thing should be theirs to hold on to_. For just little longer at least, it should be theirs and no one else's. Ginny watches Albus, watches him kiss Scorpius under the Christmas lights in Hogsmeade, and sees how happy he has become. She wants to hold this happiness tight, and fight anyone who might try to take it from him. She knows it can’t be this way forever. The Prophet would love another chance to get the Malfoy family on their front page. Especially combined with Albus, so readily recognised by the world, for he is their child most like Harry. For all of Scor’s goodness, for all of his kindness, he will be forever be judged, condemned, because of choices made before he was born. 

_But not today_. Today is about Christmas, her children and Harry. In Hogsmeade they can laugh, throw snowballs and be the people she always wished they were free to be. Here Ginny is buoyed with hope. Even if its just for today, she allows herself just one wish. _That her life could always be like this_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Hope you have a superb day.


End file.
